


Outfit Crisis

by iamavacado



Series: Some Sanders Sides Stories [1]
Category: Sanders Sides, Sanders Sides (Web Series), Thomas Sanders
Genre: Dresses, High School AU, M/M, Prinxiety - Freeform, Prom, Suit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-01
Updated: 2018-06-01
Packaged: 2019-05-16 16:46:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14815109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iamavacado/pseuds/iamavacado
Summary: Roman can not, for the life of him, find a good suit to wear for prom.





	Outfit Crisis

**Author's Note:**

> Roman would wear a dress to prom and u can pry that from my cold dead hands.

Roman grimaced at himself in the fitting room mirror. The red bowtie at his neck clung too tight, and he loosened it so it was hanging party style, untied. The vest felt like a hug from a family member he didn't want, so he unbuttoned it. The jacket didn't want to button, so he discarded it. The gold dress shirt reminded him of rotten mustard, so he pulled it over his head and let it fall, crumpled, to the floor. The watch on his wrist kept pinching his skin, so he took it off and set it on the changing bench.

He stood there in starchy dress pants and ill fitting shoes. Black socks. Messy hair. And a deep frown. This was the epitome of discomfort.

A small knock on the changing room door brought him out of his thoughts. “How does it fit?” asked Virgil from the other side. “Look good?”

Roman sighed, but not too loud, and opened the door just a crack. When Virgil saw that Roman was shirtless and unsatisfied, he made a sound of sympathy. “Not that one either?” he asked.

“No,” Roman said apologetically, “not that one either. Give me another second, will you?” He shut the door softly.

Roman slipped off the dress pants and placed each article of clothing back carefully on the rack he took it off of. Then he put on his jeans, and tank top that had a handmade golden crown on it. Virgil had made it himself: cut a T-shirt’s sleeves off and made a cut out shape. Then he took some spray paint, and voila. Usually, it would bring his spirits up, but now? It didn't help. He just pursed his lips at his unsatisfied reflection.

Roman had been asking for another second for about two and a half hours now. The idea of prom excited him days ago. But now, when he actually went out with his date and started looking for a suit, his exuberance evaded him. He had scoured the racks for way too long. The employee was growing frustrated, and Roman was too. Virgil remained as patient as he could, but even the little annoyance he felt started to show through. The question that ran through Roman's mind surely was running through everyone else's.

_What was so hard about picking a suit?_

Maybe if it were a dress. Maybe then they could understand the thought that went into it. But not a tux. It was so simple what went into a tux. Pick a color, vest or no vest, bow tie or regular, and a pair of cufflinks. And you didn't even really need cufflinks! That was just to spice up what was otherwise a bland side piece to the real action: the dresses.

So many more options lied in dresses. Sweetheart necklines, puffy sleeves, mermaid cuts, princess shapes, sparkles, rhinestones, and all sorts of colors. Roman understood why it took people so long to pick a dress. But not a suit. Hell, Virgil had his picked within twenty minutes. He had already been to pay for it by the time Roman had tried on his third jacket. 

None of them felt _right._ It was always a little too tight here or a little too slack here. Or it didn't give me enough of a figure or it made me look like an english professor at Harvard who was once a great teacher, but was now a washed up _nobody._

Roman didn't want to be a nobody.

So he had to stand out! He had to pop against all the black suits milling about. A mustard shirt and ugly red bowtie was not the way to accomplish his venture.

Virgil's outfit was great: purple always popped out against the rainbow, and thankfully, it was already his color, so he didn't have any trouble. His suit was a deep maroon, almost black, but not quite. His shirt was purple, with a dark maroon tie. His pocket sported a bright purple silk handkerchief, and his cufflinks we custom made: small purple storm clouds. His mother frowned upon them (“It's not gentleman like!”) but Virgil didn't care. It was the only thing that added a little flair--that unmistakable Virgil vibe--to his otherwise normal looking suit.

Roman swooned, but couldn't find the same look for himself. He grabbed his phone and stepped out of the dressing room. Virgil stood by the cart, empathetic.

“Do you want to try another color shirt?” he prompted, trying to be helpful. He rummaged in the cart and held up a blue one. “I know it isn't your color, but maybe a change of pace might help?”

Roman shook his head. “No, I don't think so, but…” he managed a weak smile. “Thanks for trying, though.”

The employee who had been helping the two boys walked up with another tux on a rack. They attempted a helpful smile, but the tiredness shone clearly in their eyes. “How about this one?” they asked. 

Roman reached in his back pocket and dug around for his wallet. He pulled out a twenty and gave it to the employee. “I actually think we're done here, for today. I'm so sorry we've- I've been running you around. You've been more than helpful. Can I get your name?”

“Joan.”

“Thank you Joan. I'll put in a good word for you.”

Joan smiled, thankful for the tip and to be released from helping Roman, and made off, probably for home. Virgil watched as they walked away. Then he turned to Roman, a knowing silence between them.

“You don't like the suits, huh?” asked Virgil, voice gentle.

Roman sighed, all the poise leaving his shoulders as he slumped forward slightly. “No, I guess not. I just-” he gestured to the air, hoping the answer would be contained somewhere within the oxygen. “I just want something more, you know? Something that, when people see me, they go, 'wow! Look at Roman!’”

“I already do that when I see you.”

Roman couldn't hide the warm smile that spread across his face. “I know. And I love you. But…” and then it fell once again. “I don't know what it is that turns me off from all of these suits. They're all gorgeous, and I feel selfish, but they're just...not enough.”

Virgil stepped closer and put a hand on Roman's shoulder. “I want you to know, that no matter how long it takes, I will do whatever I can, and go wherever you want, if it means that you can feel comfortable with what you're wearing at prom.” Roman started to speak, but Virgil put a finger against his lips comically, not missing a beat. “I don't care if you want to go somewhere else, and then somewhere else after that or after that. If I get to feel confident, then so do you.” He stepped back. “Of all people.”

Roman smiled, tired. His chest felt heavy. “Thanks.” 

Virgil had turned around, and was arranging the slew of suit coats and vests and pants to prepare them for return. “Besides, it isn't like you couldn't--”

He looked up briefly, when he felt his own breath catch in his throat at his sudden realization. Across the way, behind a rack of exotic ties, was the women's section. And on the women's racks were a line of beautiful dresses, just waiting to be picked through. No one was over there. Virgil's mouth twitched up.

It was perfect. 

“Hey Roman?” Virgil called, eyes still locked on the rack of dresses. “You don't like the suits, right?”

“No, I don't. Why?” 

Virgil brought him close, and bid that he follow his line of vision. “What if you didn't wear a suit?” He pointed at the rack of dresses. Roman's face lit up.

“You are a genius.”

***

Roman burst into prom like it was a kingdom and he was their queen. When they all saw him, they seemed almost jealous that Virgil was the one linked in his arm. 

A deep red dress that puffed out like Cinderella’s, and a top that was traced in golden lace patterns. The same patterns were the trim at the bottom. With rockin’ golden heels and a matching crown (and red eyeliner), he was the bell of the ball. And he knew it.

They were on the dance floor. “Feel good?” Virgil asked.

Roman smiled as wide as he could. “Most certainly.”

**Author's Note:**

> Leave a comment!


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